


voices

by hurricaneharmony



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 09:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2382761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurricaneharmony/pseuds/hurricaneharmony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Don't listen to them... don't you </i>ever<i> listen to them."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	voices

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little thing I wrote during the summer during filming, and kept sitting on for months... not my best but I do like the ending. Kudos and comments make me dance like a happy sproutling, and I will love you forever if you leave them. Hope you like it! :)

It’s strange, Emma thinks. He used to hold her hand and never let go, always at her left so his hand was ready to take hers. He’d whisper things in her ear during lunch with Henry and Regina so a dark blush would spread across her cheeks, and Regina would roll her eyes and snort disgustedly. He’d pull her aside in the middle of conversations and parties, dragging her away to some quiet place and kiss her senseless, damn the consequences. He used to be (or act, she reminds herself) so confident- as if his eyes couldn’t see any of the people around them, only her. 

But now, he’s unusually quiet in public. He smiles tightly when Ruby hands him two beers with a wink in Emma’s direction, he stands just behind Emma during a conversation with her parents instead of joining in. He won’t flirt or kiss her within sight of the townsfolk- the most he’ll do is hold her hand (but only when they’re alone- he drops it quickly whenever someone approaches). 

During a lull in conversation at the town party for the birth of Aurora and Philip’s newborn daughter, she quietly takes him by the hand and pulls him outside. It’s dark tonight, but the patio outside Granny’s is softly lit from strings of tiny bulbs that hang over the dining area, around the fences, casting them in a soft glow. She looks over at a table and smiles thinly, remembering that first real kiss that meant something, meant everything- how after, he’d been softer and lighter and told stories that coaxed a grin, then a full- bellied laugh out of Grumpy. She looks at him now- brows drawn together, tugging at the hem of his new leather jacket with his new left hand and reaching up to scratch behind his ear with the other. 

“Everything alright, love?” he says quietly, nearly the first words he’d spoken since entering the diner an hour ago. He’d avoided conversations with a thin-lipped smile, fiddling with his zippered pocket behind her while person after person approached Emma. 

“I was just about to ask you the same.” she murmurs. “What’s been going on lately?” 

He’s silent for a long moment, shifting from foot to foot. He stares at the ground, then whips around so the light from the diner’s windows catches in his eye, then turns his back to the door and looks up at the strings of lights above them, a muscle in his jaw jumping. She moves to stand beside him, her eyes following his to the lights wordlessly. 

“I can’t go back in there.” He mutters, forcefully shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Not with all those people.” 

Emma watches him out of the corner of her eye as his mouth opens and closes in near speech and hesitance. 

“Do you see how they look at me whenever I’m with you?” he mumbles fiercely. “Have you heard what they say?” 

She opens her mouth in protest, but he holds up a halting finger and continues, his voice low but fast, spitting venomous words. 

“I’ve had strangers approach me when I’m alone and ask how many people I’ve killed, how many men’s wives I’ve stolen, how I can live with myself after all the lives I’ve ruined.” 

He kicks at the pavement beneath his boots to punctuate his words, and she watches watching as black scuff lines appear on the ground. 

“Parents pull their children away to the other side of the sidewalk when I pass by them. They’re all afraid of me.” He gulps, and she watches his Adam’s apple bob once, twice, before he speaks again- “And I wasn’t honest with you.” 

“The Dark One didn’t just offer to give my hand back. I went to him and _begged_ for it. I said I’d do anything to have it back. I don’t know yet what the price to his magic is yet, but I know I’ll have to pay it. I just don’t want them to be afraid of the hook. Of me.” He’s glaring at the ground, the toe of his boot kicking a weed between patio stones into a green pulp. 

“Have you heard what they say about us?” he spits. 

“Killian-” she tries, but he interrupts. 

“Whenever we’re out and you leave for a moment, someone comes over to tell me I’m not good enough for you. Belle’s father told me I’m not even whole, that with my weapon hand I’m more likely to _kill_ you in your sleep than care for you. The dwarves accused me of only trying to use you. It’s been going on since Neverland- Pan wondered what you could possibly see in a one handed pirate with a drinking problem. Your father told me there’s no way you could ever love me- how could you? “I’m nothing but a _pirate_.” He mimicks David’s voice, his tone sinister. 

“Killian-“ 

“Your mother thinks I see you as a conquest- just another plunder that I stole from Neal. Ariel knows I’m a heartless bastard.” 

“Killian.” 

“The Dark One says that-“ 

_“Killian.”_ She spins to face him, grabbing his face in both of her palms, her fingertips just beside the corners of his eyes. Their toes are touching, she can feel his breath hot on her cheek, but he won’t look at her- a muscle in his jaw jumping as he looks up at the lights, down at her hands, to the sides- until she whispers his name again.  
“Don’t listen to them.” she whispers, her eyes wide and insistent as his gaze shifts between her eyes. 

“Emma-“ 

“Don’t listen to them,” she repeats louder, more fiercely, one arm sliding quickly from his cheek to wind around his neck, “don’t you _ever_ listen to them.” 

Her tone is fierce and biting, and suddenly she’s _there_ , her last words muffled in his neck as her chin tucks over his shoulder, her arms tight around his neck as his hands splay out across her back. 

There are too many voices floating through the walls of the diner- a loud, drunken shout (Grumpy’s, undoubtedly) over the murmur of the crowd, a chorus of laughter and beer glasses clinking together. He tries not to hear any of it. 

Instead, he listens to the sound of her breathing. He hears her boots scuffling against the patio stones when he pulls her closer, both arms around her waist. He ducks down and buries his face in her neck, listening for her soft, sharp breath and the quiet thud of her pulse that he can feel under his lips. 

It’s quiet with her. She takes him by the hand. 

He could stay like this for a while. 


End file.
